You know how one morning you wake up from a dream and you think: Well, that's it. I have reached the apex of surreality. No other dream will ever come close to the insanity of *that*. And so you believe until the night you dream about a squadron of seals attacking your hideout with machine guns. Actual seals. Not Navy seals. I was with a bunch of refugees jam-packed into an old factory. We took alternating shifts, day and night, to sleep and keep watch in case of attack.

When I saw the seals pulling up outside, I ran upstairs and yelled, "Seals! With machine guns!" Someone else said, "Did you say *seals* with machine guns, or...?" Yes, I cried back! It's the seals!

Everyone scattered in panic. We arrayed ourselves in immobile rows on shelves, pretending we were dolls. The seals came in and negotiated with our leaders. Apparently we were late making a tribute of munitions, which is why they'd stopped by. We came to some successful agreement and the seals heaved themselves back outdoors and onto their jeeps and motorcycles, those ones with little sidecars, and drove away.

I was talking with a friend yesterday who was telling me about brain structure, and about how people who rate highly on intelligence and creativity tests usually have more and deeper brain folds, because this essentially gives them greater surface area and, in turn, more opportunity for neural activity.